National Brawl
by SilencedxIntuition
Summary: It starts with England insulting Prussia, France, and Italy. Italy then proceeds to wipe the floor with him. After that, he and The Bad Friends Trio goes to the local pub to get rid of the memory of this day. Enter England and America. Enter the 4 overhearing their conversation, and England revealing a gun.


National Brawl

Chapter One

It Has Begun

_Oh, these poor tortured souls._

_Forsakened little nations._

_Ones who are walked all over._

_But no more._

_No, no, no more._

_Time to rise from worthlessness, Francis._

_Time to rise from worthlessness, Feliciano._

_Time to rise from worthlessness, Lovino._

_Time to rise from worthlessness, Sebastian._

You poor nations you all are, you poor nations you all are.

Come and show them the real you.

'Specially that wretched petit lapin.

That unsuspecting petit lapin.

Francis is coming for you.

Feliciano is coming for you.

Lovino is coming for you.

Sebastian is coming for you.

He takes a cigarette and puts it to his lips. You would not believe the things they say to him when he does. Yes, he knows it's bad but when you have the whole world stressing you out, do you really have any choice? He inhales the smoke, letting it intoxicate him. Deciding he wants no more, he clips the cigarette and throws it into some inknown place. Damn it all to hell, today was another meeting day and he couldn't not show up again. He'd not want to hear Germany's mouth about responsibilities and all of that crap. More or less being forced to go (he really didn't want to deal with anyone's shit today), Francis Bonnefoy got ready for the four hours of hell he would experience today. It was really too bad he couldn't skip out again. He could drink his cares away with a lovely glass of wine or perhaps embrace the beautiful _mademoiselles_ roaming the streets of France. But no, meeting week had to come _early, _and worse, his country was hosting it, so it looked bad as hell on him for not coming. Francis scoffs while putting on his crimson red pants and tucking the hems inside his boots. _How horrible a day this is going to be _he thinks. He puts the palm of his hand to his head. The headache of America saying some outrageous and completely impossible idea is already coming to him. He's so glad he stuck with Canada instead. Well, until he had to give him up to the stupid _rosbif. _He freshens up, putting on one of his finest perfumes. Yes, perfumes. He loves them over men's colone anyday. The scent is sweet to him. Euphoric. He really didn't care who noticed, anyway. He leaves his home, his sanctuary, halts a cab, riding to hell.

Francis gets there too early for his liking. As soon as he walks through the doors, Italie automatically notices him and runs to him, hugging him tightly and nesting his face into his chest. He muffles "Big Brother France is here!" Italie is the only one who calls him that. He brings his lips to Italie's ear and whispers, "You're so cute, _petit__ Italie_" and lightly kisses the shell of his ear. He could see Italie blushing and attempting to hide it. How perfect he would be, moaning and gasping his name, begging for his _big brother France _to take him harder. His thoughts are interrupted when he sees Germany walking towards them both, in which Italie stops nesting his face into Francis' chest and stands directly right next to him. "Hello France," he begins "I see you've decided to finally show your face." Francis snarls in his head. "Come now, _Allemange_, it was only for one day. I was feeling under the weather." He smiles, an obvious fake smile (but not to Germany). "That may be, but you should have at least called." He responds. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. The point is, I am here, and ready to lead today's events." He looks at Francis with dismay. "I suspect you will." He turns to Italie. "Come, let's go." Italie instead holds Francis' arm and shakes his head no. "I want to stay with Big Brother France." He states. "I'm pretty sure France has to prepare-" Francis interruptes him. "If he wants to stay with me, then so be it. He is not bothering me, much less like you are." He practically growls at Germany, takes Italie's hand and leaves a confused Germany staring as they both walked away into the meeting room. "Francis?" Said Francis turns to Italie, surprised that he called him by his human name. "What is it?" He hugs Francis again. "I'm sorry..." Francis hates to see a sad Italie. Sadness and Italy Veneziano does not mix and never will. "What are you saying sorry for? I am not mad at you. No one could be mad at someone as cute as you." Italie blushes yet again, this time not hiding it. "One more thing?" He asks. "Hmm?" He comes close to Francis and presses their lips together. Francis deepens the kiss, taking his tongue and licking Italie's lower lip. He senses what he wants and opens his mouth slightly, allowing Francis' tongue to enter his mouth, swirling it with Italie's tongue, them battling for dominance within the kiss. Italie moans as he submits to Francis' superior technique. They part for air, and Francis gasps and savors that heated kiss. "Now what on Earth possessed you to do that?" He asks. "I'm not dumb. I see the way you look at me. You want me, France." Francis smirks as he leans down to give Italie another kiss. "You're damn right I do." Italie turns to see the door opening to see some of the nations walking through the door. Both Francis and Italie part from each other, Italie taking the seat closest to the podium where Francis will stand. All of the nations soon enter, them taking their respective seats, until Francis notices that one seat is vacant. That may be Prussia, he thinks. Taking his place on the podium, he gets the meeting agendas and has the two closest people close to the podium pass the papers down, that being Italie and Spain. He glances at Italie and suddenly he realizes that maybe this won't be a hellish four hours after all. It was time to begin. "Welcome one and all to yet another G8 meeting," he begins. "I trust everyone here has gotten their rest and their necessary documents. We have a plethora of ideas and concepts to discuss for the next four or so hours. With that being said, let us begin."

"_Amerique_, it's not that I hate you," Francis begins "It's just that I don't think that a...superhero...is going to prevent global warming." America looks at Francis like he's the biggest idiot in the world. "But Franceee, it's genious I tell you!" Francis sees England banging his head on the desk repeatedly and laughs. You can't be going through any worse than what I am going through,_ batard_. As Francis secretly snarls at England in his head, he hears the doors to the meeting room bang rather loudly. "_Monsieur_ Bonnefoy, shall I open the door?" One of the guards ask. "_Oui, s'il vous plait._" He responds in his native tongue. The guard opens the door to find a very hectic Prussia with his suitcase walking into the room. "Francis, I-" Said Francis cuts him off. "It's alright Prussia, please just take your seat."

You really didn't miss anything, Prussia.

Francis steps off from the podium only to pass Prussia the last meeting agenda paper. He casually whispers "America is being an idiot again and I think England is going mad." Prussia looks towards England who is currently questioning his sanity. "I see, I see." He responds. Francis runs back to the podium and decides to finally restore order in the room. "Will everyone please shut up?! We've come here to see how we can improve our countries, not act like a bunch of uncivilized lunatics!" Everyone heeds Francis and calms down...for the time being. Then again, England looks up and sees Prussia and immediately ruins the five seconds of peace. "Now," Francis begins "On to the economy, we will-"

"What the hell are you doing here?" England shouts at Prussia. Oh great, this again. Francis sighs. "What? Problem Mr. Catepillar Eyebrows?" Francis snarls at England. "He's here because he has a right to be!" England snarls back at France. "He's not even a nation anymore! He has no damn right to be here!" Prussia rises from his seat. "Would you kindly like to say that to my face?" He growls. Germany attempts to calm his brother. "_Bruder, don't rise to that." He says. "It's not worth it."_

"It is damn well worth it when he desacretes the name of my nation!"

"What nation?" England asks "Prussia or East Germany?"

"You son of a bitch! You'll no' get away with that!" I run to Prussia, holding him from ripping England to shreads. "_Angleterre, _must you be so cruel?" Francis asks, although automatically knowing the answer.

"You stay out of this, you damned pervert!" He snarls yet again.

"I will not stay out of it! You have some fucking nerve to disrespect my bad friend like that! How dare you! If it weren't for the rules I'd ban you from ever coming to another meeting, you disrespectful little shit!" The guards come from the doors, standing between Francis, Prussia, and England, preventing World War III from breaking out.

"Tough words from one of the most pathetic and ultimately weak nation ever to walk the Earth! You're even weaker than _Italy, _and that is saying something!" Every single nation present in that room gasped at England's words, but before Francis had the chance to defend himself and Italie, it was like it all happened in a flash. Italie jumps from his seat, running past the guards. In one swift motion he manages to punch England, knocking him to the ground. He kicks and kicks at him, even going so far as to literally spit in his face.

"How is this for weak, you little fucker?! Does this look like weak to you?! How does it feel, how does my weakness feel?! Do you like it?!"

"Please...you're still nothing!"

Francis lets go of Prussia, smirking at Italie. He'd really reward him now.

"I'm...nothing?" Italie asks him. "Your insults have gradually taken a turn for the worse now. These are the insults of the once great empire England? Don't make me laugh!" He delivers another kick to his stomack, this time drawing blood. "Did you forget that Italy is the country of the mafia, meaning I know the most beautiful and most painful tactics to get you to shut the fuck up? Did you once think that 'this weak little Italy' couldn't protect himself? God, Romano, I wish you were here. You would be so proud of your little _fratello_." Francis walks towards Italie, grabbing his arm and calmly moves Italie away from the now humiliated England.

"Alright Italie, it's over now. I don't want you talking like that again." Francis says as he walks Italie back to his seat, Prussia walking back to his. Francis goes to the guards, telling them to take England far away from the meeting room and they do so. Francis steps up to the podium again. "Listen to me, all of you, _**now.**_" Everyone at once turns their head to Francis. He motions Italie to come to the podium and stand next to him and he too heeds Francis.

"Since that event is over, I want to address something to all of you, save for Italy. Neather I nor Italy is weak. I want ALL of you to get that out of your heads right now. For Italy, one of the nicest nations to suddenly lash out like that is unacceptable. There shouldn't be any talk of no mafia or gang or anything like that to get it into your thick heads that we are not weak. Tell me now, if we were weak, do you think that we would be here where we are now? I for one do not think so. We are not weak and I am sorry, but if any of you cannot get that through your heads then do not talk to us at all."

"I have had it up to here with all of this talk of my brother and I being weak," Italie begins. "I shouldn't have to threaten with the mafia to get it across that we aren't weak. I am Italy Veneziano, half of the Republic of Italy, my brother, Italy Romano being the other half and I expect we be treated as such."

Francis motions Italie to his seat.

"Now we move on to the economy." Francis says with no interruptions this time.

"And with that, this second meeting day is over. Please be on time tomorrow, get a good rest, and don't forget to bring your documents for tomorrow's meeting. You all may go now." The rest of the nations leave save for Italie, Prussia, and Spain. "Hmm?" Francis asks. "What is it?"

"That...that was really awesome. I mean, what you said before we got into the economy thing." Prussia says.

"Thank you, but is that really what you just wanted to say?" Francis asks.

"Well," Spain begins "We want to know if you and Italy want to come to the pub with us."

"Sure, let's get drunk off our asses and forget about this day. But Italy? I don't know..."

"It's fine. I could definantly use a sangria or two after today." Italie intervenes.

"Alright." Francis confirms. "Let's go."

Francis, Italie, Spain and Prussia arrive to the pub together, taking the booth seats all the way in the far back. France orders the occasional wine, Prussia, the finest beer and Spain and Italie order Sangria. "Italy, I had no idea you actually drank." Prussia says. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me." Italie says while smirking at Prussia. Francis secretly winks at him, Italie doing the same. "Today was hectic as hell." Spain reminiscences. "That it was, _mon ami_, that it was, but let's get today out of our heads." Francis takes a big gulp of his wine. "Shit!" Italie exclames. "Quoi?" Francis askes. "Look towards the door." Italie responds with a scowl. Francis, Spain and Prussia turn towards the door to see both America and England entering. Francis and Italie smile their most wicked smiles. This is going to be fun, but they wouldn't do anything unless they did something. They too, take a booth seat in the far back...right next to them.

Spain whispers "Are they really that dumb that they didn't notice us?"

"I suppose so." Francis whispers back.

"Let's see if they dare say something about us while 'we're not here'" Italie states.

All four proceed to listen in.

"That little fucker!" England exclaimes while smashing his glass on the table. "I cannot believe I got bested by Italy. Are you kidding me? I got bested by _Italy!" _America taps his shoulder lightly. "Dude, seriously, just calm down. You said some fucked up things too."

Maybe America did have common sense after all.

"They deserved it! No one makes a fool of me, especially not France!"

America sighs. "Okay, dude, England, seriously. France did jack shit to you. You are the one who got in his face when all he was trying to do is prevent a fight from happening. I am not taking sides, but damn, you should have just stopped there. You didn't have to go all out and call France and Italy weak for no reason. And for fucks sake, leave Prussia be! You are always fighting with him, Spain and France! It's like you love to hate on those three, and now you get Italy into this? Really, England? What happened to being a gentleman?"

Okay, so America does have common sense.

"Don't insult my being a gentleman. I am a gentleman to women and men who choose to be mature about things, not a bunch of rodents!"

"There you go again! Calling them rodents! God, why do I put up with you?"

"You are taking their bloody side!"

"No I'm not! I''m not on anyone's side, I'm on my own side!"

"That doesn't make sense!"

"You don't make sense!"

"I make more sense that you did this entire day! Italy didn't beat me up, he beat YOU up!"

Oh, now they were arguing. And America really does have common sense. Francis underestimated him. Now if only he could take the common sense to the meeting room...

"Enough! I am not apologizing to anyone!"

"That's the least they deserve!"

"They don't deserve anything! The only thing they deserve is sticks up their asses because that is all their going to get."

"I am seriously contemplating on slapping you, England. Or maybe I should get...Italy to do it?"

England jumps from his seat. On the other side, the four bend their heads as to not be seen.

" Italy won't be able to do anything...not when I'm...done with him..." England smirks.

"W-What are you planning?" America didn't like seeing that smirk on his face.

England laughs, and reveals a gun.

America gasps.

"What the hell?" Prussia whispers.

"Not on my watch." Spain scowls. "If I can save Romano from Turkey I can save Italy from this."

"I'll gut him alive if he touches my Italy." Francis smirks.

"That is so cute." Italie says.

All three turn to Italie.

He reveals his dual guns, and they gasp. How the hell did they not see that?

"Are you all with me or not?" Italie asks.

All three nod yes, get up, and surround their table. Both America and England have risen from their seats.

"Did you miss us?" Francis asks.

"We don't want any trouble!" America pleades.

"We know you don't want trouble, America, but England still does." Spain turns to said England and smirks.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" England tries to lie.

By now their shouting has aroused the attention of everyone within the pub, and they all turn to where the commotion is coming from. The six realize this, and not wanting to reveal they are nations, proceed to call each other by their human names.

"You threaten me with a gun, do you not, Arthur?" Feliciano smirks. "I however, am so far ahead of you it is no longer funny."

Arthur gives up with the act and points the gun to Feliciano. He is not even shocked. He points his dual guns at Arthur as well. The pub is in hysterics as people scream and quickly run out of the place.

"You think you're so smart, Feliciano. You think you're so damn smart don't you?" Arthur scowls.

"During the times of World War Two I actually did learn many things from Ludwig, you'd be surprised."

"Feliciano, Arthur, please don't do this. Please." Alfred pleads yet again.

"It's too late." Gilbert starts. "Arthur has already proved he wants to hurt Feliciano."

"No one hurts Feliciano." Francis finishes for Gilbert.

"Listen, can't we just settle this some other way?" Alfred begins. "We don't need the guns and all of that shit."

"We told you, Alfred. It's too late." Antonio states.

"So then, Arthur. Will you make the first move, or shall I?"


End file.
